Fated Hearts 02 - Highland Echoes

by Ceci Giltenan

Kristen’s chin began to tremble. She looked up at Bram. “There was a storm. Da and Gwandda didn’t come home fwom the boat. Gwamma was sick. She died too. Me and Mama were awone. I miss my Da. And Gwamma and Gwandda too.”

  Grace bent her head down, resting her cheek on the top of Kristen’s head. “I miss them too, sprite, but we aren’t going to cry for them anymore are we?”

  “Nay,” said the wee lass, but her chin still trembled.

  “And why won’t we cry?”

  “Because, they are in heaven wiff God and the anjoes.”

  “Aye, they are with God and the angels and heaven is a lovely place.”

  Kristen nodded. She brushed her cheek against the kitten’s fur again. She smiled. “The kitty is soft.”

  Just like that, Kristen had bounced back from her moment of sorrow. Her beautiful mother didn’t recover quite as quickly. The haunted, troubled look in her eyes lingered. Bram felt he needed to say something. “I’m sorry for yer loss, Grace.”

  She blinked and looked away for a moment. After taking a deep breath she looked at him again, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “Thank ye,” was all she said.

  He wished with everything in him that he could pull her into his arms and erase the shadows from her eyes. The intense feeling caught him by surprise. He reached out and brushed away a tear that had escaped from the corner of her eye.

  *

  He had done it again. He had touched her face, tenderly wiping away a tear. And for just a moment she didn’t feel quite so alone. She thought back to the evening of the feast. She hadn’t felt alone then either. As she looked into his clear blue eyes she wondered what it would be like… Nay get that out of yer head, Grace. He is the laird’s son and heir and ye are the cook’s granddaughter.

  She looked away. She kissed the top of Kristen’s head before saying, “We really do need to get back to granny, poppet.”

  Chapter 9

  Although the rain had continued through the day on Saturday, by Sunday morning a fresh breeze had swept all the clouds away, leaving clear blue skies. Grace attended Mass with Innes and Kristen. For months, Mass had left her cold. The beautiful liturgy that she had once loved was just one more reminder that she was alone. She went through the motions, but that was all. Her mind wandered. Grace found her eyes drawn repeatedly to Bram, who sat with his family in the front of the church.

  He puzzled her. After he had walked her home on Pentecost, she lay on her pallet thinking about the evening. It had been wonderful but it was one evening. That was all. She couldn’t let it become anything more. Since then, their paths had crossed on several other occasions. Each time he stopped to chat for a few moments. She tried to remain guarded and maintain distance, while he acted as if they were old friends. His banter was light and pleasant and truthfully, she began to look forward to seeing him. It was nice to have a friend—as long as that was where it stayed.

  Then Friday afternoon he joined them in the loft. Kristen had reminded her of the loved ones they had lost and for the first time, she felt solace. Her grief had lessened ever so slightly. Still, she didn’t know exactly what to make of this and it scared her.

  Please God, I don’t think I can take any more. I can’t love someone again. Especially someone who can’t love me in return. Please protect me from this.

  When Mass was over, she walked home with Innes and Kristen. Home. It was beginning to feel like home.

  Kristen interrupted her thoughts. “Can we cwimb the hiww?”

  The hill. The promontory overlooking her home. She sighed. Maybe this wasn’t quite home yet. “Nay, Kristen.”

  “But I want to cwimb the hiww.”

  “We can’t, Kristen.”

  “But I want to.”

  Grace wanted to as well, but the memories hurt. She took a deep breath. “I do too, but I told ye, we can’t. Besides, we have work to do.”

  Kristen pouted. “But we used to cwimb the hiww after Mass.”

  “What is it she wants, Grace?” asked Innes.

  Grace sighed. “She wants to climb the hill. On Lewis, there was a promontory that rose above the village. From the top of it ye could see the whole village and out to sea. On fine days, especially Sundays, we would climb the promontory.”

  “Ye and Kristen?”

  Grace swallowed hard. “Aye, and Callum. Just like I did with Mama and Da when I was a little girl.” Innes took her hand and squeezed it lightly.

  “I picked fwowers and sometimes we ate on the gwass,” Kristen added.

  “Hmm,” Innes said, tapping her forefinger on her lips. “Well, my dears, it isn’t the ‘hill’ that ye climbed before, but the hill there, rising behind the castle, leads to the cliffs overlooking the firth. It’s just a short walk.”

  Grace stopped and looked at her grandmother. “But there is work to be done.”

  “And many other hands to do it.”

  “Can we eat on the gwass?”

  Innes captured Grace’s gaze. “It is up to Mama, sweetling. What do ye say, Grace? I’ll give ye a packet of food so ye can ‘eat on the gwass’.” Her grandmother’s eyes twinkled as she imitated Kristen.

  Grace considered it for a moment. The peace of a quiet afternoon with her daughter, like they used to have, was enticing.

  “Pwease, Mama.”

  “All right, Kristen. We will climb a new hill today.”

  In no time at all Grace was ready to go with a small sack of food, a costrel of water, and her wee daughter skipping at her side. She hadn’t left the castle walls since she had arrived over a week ago. As she approached the gates, one of the guardsmen called to her. “Good morning, Mistress Breive. Where are ye and that wee lass going on this fine day?”

  She recognized him as Maisie’s son, Donal.

  “We are going to cwimb a hiww and eat on the gwass,” said Kristen with glee.

  Grace laughed at Donal’s confused expression and explained, “We are going to climb a hill and eat on the grass.”

  Donal grinned. “Is this something ye do often? Eat on the grass?”

  “We used to. Kristen decided that it was a fine day to do it again.”

  Donal nodded. “Aye, I expect it is. Enjoy yerselves then. But to be safe, stay within sight of the castle.”

  “Aye, we will. Thank ye, Donal.”

  As they walked, Kristen kept a steady chatter going. When the slope became a bit steeper Grace swung Kristen up onto her shoulders. Finally, they reached the top and Grace stopped in awe. The view was spectacular.

  Even Kristen stopped her prattle, eventually breaking the silence with, “It’s pwetty.”

  “Aye it is, pet.”

  “Can I pick fwowers?”

  “Aye, but ye must stay away from the edge.”

  “I know mama.”

  She wandered with her daughter, looking under rocks, picking flowers, and playing games. When Kristen grew tired, Grace sat leaning her back against a rock with Kristen in her lap. They nibbled at the bread and cheese Innes had packed for them while they played a guessing game.

  “I see something blue and white,” said Grace.

  “The sky,” squealed Kristen.

  “Aye, the sky. Now, I see something big and gray.”

  “The wock.”

  “Aye, the rock.”

  “I want to do one, Mama.”

  “All right, sweetling.”

  Kristen looked around searching for something to describe. Her eyes clearly lit on something behind Grace. “I see something, gween and bwoo and white.”

  “Hmm. Is it another rock?”

  Kristen shook her head and giggled. “Wocks aren’t bwoo.”

  “Is it the sky?” teased Grace.

  “Mama, the sky isn’t gween.”

  “Nay, I don’t suppose it is. Is it flowers?”

  Kristen grinned, shaking her head again. “It isn’t fwowers. Do ye give up?”

  “I suppose I must. I can’t imagine what it is.”

  Kristen pointed down the hill. “It�
�s Sir Bwam’s pwaid.”

  “What?” Grace scrambled to her feet and looked down the hill in the direction that Kristen had been looking. Sure enough, Bram climbed the hill towards them, looking angry.

  *

  It had been a damned frustrating day so far.

  Bram had caught a glimpse of Grace as he left Mass. He wanted to weave his way through the worshippers to her side but he couldn’t. He escorted his mother. When they had returned to the keep, he intended to go to the kitchen. He couldn’t get his mind off of Grace. She was a beautiful woman, any man would think so. Aye, that was the reason…only, he knew it wasn’t. There was something about her beyond her beauty that stirred something deep within him. He had glimpsed it several times on Pentecost and then again in the hayloft, but he couldn’t define it. Yes, he would go to the kitchen.

  Unfortunately, his father had stopped him. “Ye have avoided me all week, Bram. If ye want any say in who yer bride will be, ye will join me in my solar.”

  “But, Da, I won’t be long—”

  “Nay. My solar. Now.”

  The discussion hadn’t gone well. Well, in fairness it wasn’t much of a discussion. It was somewhat one-sided. His father had a list. Each woman on the list represented an alliance with a strong clan. Eanraig had taken care to describe exactly the political advantages each one brought. Frankly, any one of them would be an excellent strategic match and would certainly be good for the clan, but Bram found reasons why he shouldn’t marry any of them.

  His father had finally reached his limit. “What is the matter with ye, son?”

  Bram didn’t have an answer he could give his father. He couldn’t say he was enchanted with the beautiful Widow Breive, the cook’s granddaughter. He had finally said, “I don’t know any of these women.”

  His father had pounded his fist on his desk. “Ye don’t need to know them! Ye just need to pick one to marry.”

  “Then why does it matter what I think? Pick the alliance ye want.”

  “Fine. If that is the way ye want it, I will send a message to Ranulf Sinclair asking for a betrothal to his daughter Annice.”

  Bram gritted his teeth. “So are we done here?”

  “Aye. We’re done.”

  “Then please excuse me.”

  Bram rose to leave. He had his hand on the door when his father said, “Son, if this is about Fiona, ye need to let it go.”

  Bram sighed. “It isn’t about Fiona. Send the message to Laird Sinclair.” He had left the solar without waiting for a response from his father, striding down the hall to the solace of his own chamber. The day so far had been maddening. He’d crossed the room to the window which looked out on the headland rising behind the keep.

  Movement caught his eye—someone was on the cliff. It only took one glimpse of auburn hair spilling from under a white kertch to tell him who it was. What is Grace doing out there? It was dangerous. By the saints, she had Kristen with her. He swore and left his chamber, heading downstairs and out of the keep.

  As he crossed the inner bailey, Ian had fallen in step beside him. “By the look of ye, I’d say the discussion with father went extremely well.”

  He scowled at his brother, “Leave it, Ian.”

  “Where are ye going? Ye look ready to kill someone. God pity the soul.”

  “God will need to have pity on yer soul if ye don’t drop it.”

  Ian grabbed his shoulder. “What in the hell is the matter with ye?”

  “Nothing. Grace is on the cliff. I saw her from my chamber.”

  Ian looked at him as if he had lost his mind. “What’s wrong with that?”

  “She’s on the cliff. With the wee lass. Alone.” At the blank expression on Ian’s face he roared, “it’s dangerous!”

  “Maybe in a storm, but it is a fine day. Bram, people walk on the headlands all the time.”

  “Well, women with children shouldn’t walk it alone.” Bram shook his head and continued on his mission.

  “I’ll go with ye,” said Ian cheerily. “In the mood ye are in, maybe ye shouldn’t walk it alone.” Bram had given him a quelling look. “Or maybe I’ll just stay out of yer way.”

  “Good choice.”

  He had continued on his path, charging through the gates without speaking to the guards posted there. Now, starting up the hill, he saw Grace sitting with her back against a boulder. When Kristen pointed towards him, she scrambled to her feet, scooped Kristen into her arms, and put the large rock she had been leaning against between them. Damn. She was afraid of him. He managed to calm his temper before he reached them. “Good afternoon, Grace, Kristen.”

  “Good afternoon, sir,” she said in a tight voice.

  “Grace, I have asked ye to call me Bram.” He couldn’t keep the irritation from his voice.

  “Have I done something wrong?”

  “It is dangerous up here.”

  She was incredulous. “Dangerous?”

  “Aye Grace, dangerous. The cliff is a sheer drop.”

  “It is wike the hiww we cwimbed at home. We don’t go neaw the edge,” Kristen said solemnly.

  “Aye. Bram, I grew up in a fishing village on Lewis. I am well familiar with sea cliffs.”

  “There are rocks protruding from the ground everywhere. Kristen could get hurt.”

  “We are careful. If I needed to avoid rocky ground to keep her safe, I fear I would have to leave the Highlands.”

  “But ye are a woman alone. It isn’t safe.”

  “I have been a woman alone for quite some time now. I can take care of myself. I promised Donal I would stay within sight of the keep and I have a knife with me. Ye haven’t forgotten my particular skill with knives have ye?”

  “It’s still dangerous. Come, I’ll walk ye back to the keep.”

  “But we haven’t finished our bwead and cheese. We awways ate wif Da on the gwass.”

  “Wheesht, Kristen. Bram, I appreciate yer concern but it isn’t necessary. I’m not yer responsibility.”

  “Of course ye are. Ye’re a clanswoman, a Sutherland. That makes ye my responsibility. Come now.” He held out a hand to her.

  She smiled at him. “But we haven’t finished our bread and cheese.”

  “Ye can sit on the gwass wif us and have some too,” Kristen offered.

  Dear God, had he ever been given an offer he wanted to accept more? “Well, I suppose I could stay with ye for yer midday meal. But then ye must come back to the keep with me.”

  Bram had attended many a fine feast but he was fairly sure he had never enjoyed a meal more than the one spent sitting in the “gwass” with the woman who captivated him and her wee daughter.

  They didn’t return to the keep as soon as they were done eating. Thankfully, Kristen had immediately curled up in Grace’s lap and fallen asleep. Bram wasn’t as anxious to return to the keep as he had led them to believe. He and Grace talked while Kristen napped. He told her about his family and the clan. She told him about her family and her husband and about losing them. He marveled at her strength. She had shouldered a burden that would have crushed many. Bram found himself feeling jealous of a dead man—the man who had called this wonderful woman his own.

  Kristen had probably napped for close to two hours, but when she woke, he was sorry it hadn’t been longer. “Well, now that this wee poppet is awake, I should escort ye back to the keep.”

  “Ye needn’t do that, Bram. Kristen isn’t fully awake yet, so I will carry her down. Ye go on ahead. We’ll be slow.”

  “Ye can’t carry her down the hill. It’s dangerous. Ye might stumble with her.”

  “Ye worry too much. I carried her up the hill. I think I can manage to carry her down.”

  “And ye argue too much. I will carry her down.” Without waiting for an answer from Grace he scooped the wee lass up. Kristen wrapped her little arms around his neck, snuggling close, and his heart melted. He started down the hill before looking over his shoulder and saying, “Are ye coming?”

  She shook her head in e
xasperation. “Aye, I’m coming.”

  Chapter 10

  Eanraig Sutherland had been baffled by his son’s behavior. If Fiona wasn’t the problem, what was? Whatever it was, this was unlike him and he would have to get over it. Frankly, Eanraig was glad Bram had left the choice up to him. The alliance he most sought was with the Sinclairs. The Sinclairs had feuded with many clans over the years. While they had never been at odds with the Sutherlands, neither had they been close allies either.

  Still, his son worried him. Bram had complained that he didn’t know any of the women on the list. Know them? Ridiculous. He would get to know the one he chose. It was the way of things.

  With resolve, Eanraig had composed the letter to Laird Sinclair, sealed it, and had it ready for a messenger to carry the next day.

  With that task finished, he rose from his desk and walked to the window. It was too fine a day to stay in. Perhaps he would take his wife for a ride. Rodina loved surprises like that. Before he turned away from the window, something on the headland caught his eye. He stopped to look, smiling when he realized it was a young couple with a child. The bairn slept in her mother’s lap. He looked more closely and saw coppery auburn curls emerging from under a white kertch. It was Grace Breive. Well, that was good. She seemed like a fine lass and needed another husband eventually. However, Eanraig’s good humor fled when he realized it wasn’t a villager or a member of his garrison who sat beside her, but his son, Bram.

  Damnation, she was what had him so distracted. Frankly he couldn’t blame his son. Grace was a striking young woman but if Bram had some notion of love in his head, it would have to be nipped in the bud.

  That evening, during supper, Eanraig launched his campaign.

  “Bram, the messenger will deliver my betrothal request to Laird Sinclair tomorrow. I feel certain Sinclair will agree. We could have the entire thing resolved within the next fortnight.”

  Bram nodded but said nothing.

  Rodina’s face lit with a smile. “Oh, Eanraig, ye’re seeking a betrothal with Annice Sinclair? That will be wonderful. Don’t ye think so, Bram?”

  “Aye, Mother. It will be a valuable alliance.”

  “I expect she has grown into a lovely young woman. I believe we saw her last at her oldest sister’s wedding to Andrew MacLeod. Do ye remember Annice? She was quite a bonny lass.”